


Once upon a Dream

by raiyana



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dreaming, F/F, Falling In Love, Tolkien Femslash Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 10:56:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15338358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiyana/pseuds/raiyana
Summary: Escaping the horrors of Helcaraxë and the doldrums of ordinary life in Menegroth, two maidens meet in a strange land...





	Once upon a Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Love at First Sight - bingo prompt fill.  
> Partly inspired by "Here with me" by Susie Suh feat. Robert Koch:
> 
> Nobody knows why  
> Nobody knows how and  
> This feeling begins just like a spark  
> Tossing and turning inside of your heart  
> Exploding in the dark  
> Calling your name in the midnight hour  
> Reaching for you from the endless dream  
> So many miles between us now  
> But you are always here with me

She was dreaming, but not like she usually dreamt. This place was not one of memory, however dream-like wandering through the past could sometimes seem. Something – like the tide of the river – had swept off her mind, brought her to this place that was like and unlike other places she had seen.

It was not mountainous and biting cold, like her journey through the terrifying Hithaeglir, nor was it fragrantly dark, dappled in shades of green, sunlight piercing the canopy of the Great Forest where she had been born. Nor does it look like the forest outside the Halls where she lives now, or the vast caverns of her home.

There were trees here, strange and covered in grey-ness – lichen, perhaps – never quite real to her, even through the veil of a dream. There were birds in the forest – or was it a garden? – though their tunes were unfamiliar to her ears. The air felt heavy with moisture, permeated by a scent she cannot place, at once familiar and foreign.

The serenity of the trees – she had always felt the emotions tied to places and this dreamscape was no different, welcoming her spirit-self with calm acceptance – soothed her fear as she wandered further into the dream. _Perhaps this dream is the Queen’s doing?_ Her powers are strange and defy understanding even by those who care to study such skills.

“Who are you?” The question echoed in the mist that seemed to spring into being between one moment and then next and yet as though it had always been part of this dream-place. She shivered in response, though the voice was curious rather than accusatory. Looking around, she missed the speaker, no figure emerging from the mist though the voice repeated its question.

“Who are you?” This time sharply, as though the speaker was used to obedience when it commanded answers.

“Tell me your name, mist-friend,” she asked, taking a deep breath that puffed against the fog swirling around her, “and I shall tell you mine.”

Looking around herself, she almost missed the thickening part of the mist, coalescing into itself until it had the rough shape of a person, becoming clearer and clearer until she was staring at an elleth, those silver-blue eyes drawing her a step closer. In her chest, her heart pounded, staring at the lady as though to commit her face to memory.

Her hair was dark, like richly polished mahogany, though her skin was moonlight pale. The hair had been cut short – shorter than any elleth would wear it – and she was dressed in dark fur, a pelt of some white animal wrapped around her shoulders.

Lifting her arm, trailing its fine gossamer sleeve, she reached for the strange elleth’s face, tracing the shape of her cheekbones, her fingers hovering just above the skin – if this elleth was a dream, she did not want to know – until she drew back her hand, cradling it against her chest, resting above her wildly beating heart. Her mouth was dry, her mind filled with sudden yearning reflected in those icy eyes – not cold, no, but the colour of ice like the crevasses she remembered from the mountains – longing to see _her_ with her true eyes.

“Írimë,” she said, taking a step closer and raising her fur-gloved hand in turn, “my name is Írimë.”

“Írimë…” she breathed, wanting to laugh at the sheer joy of knowing her _name_ , “I am… Lothuial.” As she spoke, it occurred to her to wonder if Írimë was the Deceiver in disguise, if she had just given her name to one who would enthrall her, but the peaceful surroundings did not change, Írimë’s smile deepening, turning softer, calming Lothuial’s racing heart.

“Lothuial…” she said, licking her lips as though she was tasting the name and finding it pleasing. Lothuial shivered, feeling a flash of heat pass through her, something that felt curiously like _want_. “Who are you?” Írimë continued, “Why are you in my dream?”

“It is you who are in mine,” Lothuial replied, buoyed by a sudden feeling of elation, “Írimë.” Írimë’s name felt good in her mouth, felt like it belonged there, making a space for this dark-haired elleth in her heart like she had always lived there. Írimë did not comment, frowning slightly as she nipped at her glove, pulling it off with her teeth and dropping it at her feet.

“This looks like Lórien,” she murmured, “and yet… not.” Taking the last step remaining between them, she reached out, cupping Lothuial’s cheek.

Lothuial froze, something warm and colourful blooming into life in her soul, spreading its wings to soar in Elbereth’s beloved starlight.

“You feel… real…” she breathed bringing her own hands up to run lightly across the furs hiding Írimë’s limbs. _Love_ , she thought, at once scared and serene as the feeling filled her, reaching for Írimë with tendrils as thin as spider’s silk. “Where are you?”

_Please be real… please be somewhere I can… find you. I need you._

“We’re crossing the Ice – the Helcaraxë,” Írimë revealed, one finger running down to trace Lothuial’s upper lip.

Lothuial drew back, horrified. Fear enveloped her in an instant.

“But… you _can’t_!” she cried, catching Írimë’s wrists and staring into her eyes, her heart beating fearfully.

 _I can’t lose you – not when I’ve_ finally _found you!_

The Ice… could not be crossed, everyone knew that – not even the Dark One’s Yrc dared to try; the Helcaraxë was an uncrossable wasteland of ice and death, even before the fortress of Angband had darkened the lands outside the Girdle.

“We must,” Írimë shrugged. Her smile was sharp like the blade of a warrior’s sword, and Lothuial had the sudden thought that the other _was_ a warrior.

Biting her lip, she changed her grip, holding Írimë’s hand gently, rubbing her thumb across the skin that held the tell-tale callouses of a swordsman.

“I live in Menegroth,” she said softly, feeling her heart break with the fear that Írimë might never stand before her in the flesh. “If you do not…” she could not say the word, feeling that to do so would invite a horrible reality to come to pass, “- come to me -” Lifting her hand, she raised Írimë’s to her lips, pressing a kiss into the scarred palm. “- Please?”

 

Far far away, in a tent made of walrus skins, Írimë woke up shivering, her hröa filled with a throbbing sweetness, her palm tingling with the remembrance of soft lips.

“I will come for you… Lothuial,” she whispered to herself, gently hushing Idril when she murmured in her sleep. “My Lothuial… in Menegroth.”


End file.
